Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King

Weeks ago, Kael followed a glowing wolf girl through a mystery portal that dumped them into the goddamn sky like an idiot.

Round two? Let’s fucking go.

Last time? Dark Fae bullshit. Freefall. Snowy mountains of Eldoria.

This time? Freefall in another blizzard in who-the-fuck-knows-where. It was all the same brand of cosmic fuck you.

The only difference was he couldn’t shift into his dragon this time. So he was stuck in human form, free-falling with a girl he refused to let go of.

He flipped them so his back would hit first, grip tight around her, and shut his eyes as the ground came up to meet them.

At least they’d land in snow.

CRACK.

The impact knocked the wind from his lungs.

What the hell did they fall on?

A motherfucking frozen lake. Solid. Not liquid or snow. Nope. Hard as concrete.

SPLINNNNT.

Before Kael could get a breath, the ice broke and the water ate them. The cold was so immediate and so total that his body stopped distinguishing between pain and temperature.

His lungs tried to gasp. His brain immediately shut that shit down because gasping underwater was how you die.

Above them, the ice was already grinding shut. At least that’s what it looked like. His vision was a kaleidoscope at the moment.

He kicked his dead legs and swam up with Guinevere tucked against him.

Either he couldn’t find the hole, which would be a first for Kael Ashenvale, or it had, in fact, sealed shut.

Whatever the reason, up was no longer an option. That meant sideways. He did what made the most sense. More light meant thinner ice. He swam. One arm around her. One arm pulling through black water.

The bottom of the lake was getting shallower. If he could stand on ground, he could definitely punch through the ice.

There we go. Brain was back and taking names.

He swam faster.

The lake floor rose to meet him. His fist punched upward through ice with everything he had.

Cold air hit his knuckles. He punched again. Wider. Again. Wider.

With a bleeding hand, he pushed her through the gap first. Then himself. Ice edges cut both of them. He didn’t care. Couldn’t care. That function had shut down three emergencies ago.

He pulled her onto the snow-covered bank. On her side. Face clear. She was breathing, barely, but she was.

That’s when his body gave out. He hit the frozen ground panting, then pulled her back against his chest, trying to summon his flame.

✦✦✦

The patrol found them an hour before dawn.

Two bodies on the lakefront. One male, covered in bruises. One female, small, white-haired, blue-lipped, wearing silk pajamas and slippers.

The patrol leader knelt beside the woman and tilted her face towards his torch.

His hand jerked back.

He knew that face. Every wolf in this kingdom knew that face. He stood and turned to his second.

✦✦✦

LUNARIS KEEP. INFIRMARY.

Cassian Lunaris had been woken from sleep and everyone knew it.

The infirmary was small. Two cots. A healer who had been roused at an hour that healers should never be roused, working with the grim efficiency of a man who understood that the bodies in front of him were minutes away from organ failure and did not have time for politics.

Guinevere was on the first cot. Heated stones were packed around her body. Her lips were blue. Her wrists were raw, the skin rubbed to nothing, silver burns unmistakable from the night before. The healer examined her wrists, frowning.

On the second cot, the man was worse.

He was covered in bruises, breathing in short, struggling gasps. His eyes remained closed, his body deathly still, every scrap of energy devoted to keeping his organs from shutting down.

The healer’s assistant was rotating heated stones against his chest, swapping each one the moment it cooled, a cycle that had been running since they brought him in. The furs piled over him were doing more than the stones. Neither was doing enough.

”Who is he?” Cassian asked the patrol leader standing by the door.

”Unknown, my Prince. He was holding her when we found them on the lakefront. Took three men to separate his arms. We brought them both here. Another few minutes outside and neither of them would have made it.”

Cassian’s jaw tightened. He moved to his sister’s cot first and looked down at her. Then his eyes moved to the man on the second cot.

His expression hardened.

”Throne room. Both of them. Silver on both.”

The healer stopped working. He turned his head slowly, the motion carrying the full weight of a medical professional being asked to do something medically indefensible.

”My Prince. They are hypothermic. The princess’s core temperature is dangerously low. If you move her now, she loses the heat we’ve been building for the last twenty minutes.”

”Did I ask for her temperature?”

”If you put silver on her in this state, the suppression will stress a body that is already shutting down. She could seize.”

”Silver. Both.” Cassian’s voice carried the rigid command of a prince who had been left in charge of a kingdom and was going to exercise his authority.

”My Prince.” The healer stood, trying again. His voice remained calm. ”The man will die. His body is failing. He needs warmth, fluids, and rest. Silver will accelerate what the cold already started.”

”Then he dies on the throne room floor. They both are traitors.”

The healer held Cassian’s eyes for two full seconds. Two seconds was a long time for a healer to stare down a prince in his own Keep. Then he stepped back.

The guards moved.

Kael Ashenvale, unconscious, dying, recently resurrected, was lifted off the cot and chained, then dragged to the throne room.

Guinevere, still unconscious, blue-lipped, soaked through, wearing silk pajamas and waterlogged slippers, was carried.

Cassian turned. ”Do not carry her. If she cannot walk, then she is dragged.”

”But, Alpha—”

”You have your orders.”